Into the Fire
by violets92
Summary: He just couldn't keep the nightmares away. Colbycentric. Slight ColbyMegan. Rating for some violent imagery. Do no read if you have a serious phobia of fire.


This fic has takes me ages to write. I kept going over and re-editing it, changing the wording and all that. It's long and I just have to warn you all, it does get rather graphic in parts...not as much (I don't think) as to upgrade it to an M, but if any of you feel the rating needs to be changed, I'll change it.

Dedicated to a friend of mine who sadly inspired this story.

* * *

_I will walk into the fire until its heat doesn't burn me_

Into the Fire – Sarah McLachlan

* * *

The minute Don showed up holding those five yellow envelopes, Colby knew it was going to be bad. The now familiar feeling of anxiousness rose up trough his body, and he had to resist the urge to snatch the letters from Don and rip them into tiny pieces. No letter from the Director was a happy one. The last two times he'd received one, he'd spent days contemplating what the hell had gone wrong with his life. 

"I've got fabulous news for you all." Colby recognised the sarcasm in Don's voice immediately. "We're getting vaccinations."

Colby could feel his palms sweating, and the overwhelming urge to throw up whatever lunch he'd eaten five minutes before made itself apparent. He knew it shouldn't have affected him. It wasn't as if the FBI meds were going to give him torture drugs and a lethal injection, but all the same, the idea of sitting in a chair and having a syringe stuck up his arm again was not an appealing thought.

Sucking in a breath, Colby accepted the yellow note from Don and immediately stashed it in his drawer. Until he got over the panic, the envelope was going to stay safely shut in with his spare gun and stationary. Glad that the rest of the team was too busy groaning to notice, he stood up and silently excused himself from their presence.

For weeks after the freighter, he hadn't slept. The hallucinations had brought up memories that before the whole incident, he had locked up in the back of his mind almost to the point where he'd learnt to forget them. If one were ever brought up, he'd taught himself to shrug it off. Now, it just seemed as if he'd have to start the whole process again.

That night, he just couldn't keep the nightmares away.

* * *

_Fire. There was fire everywhere. The orange and black__ were melding together to make swirls of flames and smoke that were suffocating him to death, burning his airways right down to his lungs. The almost white hot metal around his arm cooking it to the bone was pinning him down, forcing him to look his slow and painful death in the face. _

_If he survived this, he'd never complain about sunburn again. _

_But he wasn't going to survive it. He was dead already._

_He closed his eyes tight, willing the stifling heat to go away, for a bath of ice in its place. He could feel his clothes burning him to the skin, sticking to him. Soon, he'd be one of those blackened piles of remains they found so often in burning cars. They'd have to scrape him off the doors of the Hummer and get his dental records to identify him. He wondered why the hell it was taking him so long to die. _

_As he tried to take another breath, something tightened around his arm. Not hot or soft enough to be a flame, but not hard enough to be a new piece of metal. He was being dragged towards slightly cooler air. He could feel fingers. Dear God, someone was rescuing him. The metal…it was lifting slowly. He vaguely wondered who was stupid enough to move a piece of burning metal with their bare hands. There was a hand pulling hard on his arm, and it felt like it was going to be torn off if they pulled any harder. _

_Then all of a sudden he was being half carried, half dragged on sand. He didn't want to move. He wanted to lie down and fall into a permanent sleep. But he kept moving, because that's what they'd taught him to do. Then almost as soon as he'd started to keep himself upright enough to be carried, he stumbled, hearing an explosion behind him. The ground shook, propelling him off the sand and back onto it again as he landed in an undignified heap. He vaguely registered his rescuer's face before the darkness consumed him. Dwayne. _

_And then somehow, Dwayne morphed into someone else far less familiar. Glasses, chequered shirt, syringe in hand…it was Lancer. The injection had caused his skin to prickle and burn, as if he were on fire. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Dwayne was going to save him from it this time. As Charlie would say, it was highly improbable._

* * *

The moment the team had pulled up to the crime scene, Colby had known something wasn't right. There was a feeling in his stomach that his mind couldn't quite figure out. Something between what he'd felt when he was avoiding David's eyes and accusations in the interrogation room and the feeling he got when he had to notify a mother of their child's death. 

The first thing that caught Colby's eye was the fire. He felt sick, as if his stomach had suddenly decided to tie itself into a series of knots. The blazing heat coming from the car was enough to make him feel like he was in an oven. There were people everywhere. The medics were treating people for shock, LAPD were interviewing witnesses and the fire department were wailing down the road, trying to weave their way though traffic to get to the scene. It was all eerily silent apart from the sirens a while away and the crackling of the fire melting the car's metal.

The nervous quiver in his gut intensified as he heard the sirens grow louder. He'd been near half a dozen car bombs since he joined Don's team, yet none of them had made him feel this edgy. Carefully, he began to walk towards the fireball. The sirens wailed in his ears and he could only vaguely hear Don yelling at him to get back. The heat intensified, and he felt even more uncomfortable in his suit and tie than ever. Then suddenly, he stopped.

Back in Afghanistan, they'd searched through piles of rubble and debris after the bombs had destroyed entire villages. If there was one thing he was taught to look out for, it was a cry for help. And through the screams of everybody else, he knew. There was someone alive in that car.

Someone burning to death.

* * *

_By the time they'd reached the scene, the fire was burning out, and even the smell of ash and oil couldn't overpower the smell of burnt flesh and gunpowder. He could hear women wailing, already mourning the loss of their loved ones. He had to take a breath to bring himself together as he saw a child shaking its mother, obviously asking what had happened. __He couldn't count on his hands the number of times he'd seen scenes like this. They occurred far too often for him to be shocked by it anymore._

_Their job was to round up the bodies, to separate them from the concrete and buildings, and eventually, take the remains to an anthropologist to be identified by dental records or whatever they used. He'd been here for just over a year, and scenes like this terrified him. He tried to detach, but the sight of an entire village burnt to the ground still shook him, and if he was being honest with himself, he'd be worried if he wasn't affected by it. _

_A few hours later, Colby was making his way out of the 'morgue'. Charred remains surrounded him as he walked by, and the smell of burnt human remains was making him physically sick. He could hear various medical staff performing autopsies, and although he'd never really been squeamish, he had to admit that if he heard another revolting sentence about a victim's skin, his stomach would probably empty its contents onto the ground in front of him. _

"…_preliminary analysis indicates that the victim was still alive when the fire made contact with the skin."_

"_Dear Lord…this man was burned alive." Colby stopped in his tracks as he heard the half shocked, half sympathetic voice of an elderly medical examiner. _

_He had to grab hold of a table as his body involuntarily bent in half and he threw up. The smell of the victims intensified and he felt a hand touch his back and a voice yelling to get a bucket. He recognised the voice as the one of the medical examiner. Another wave of nausea came over him, and he couldn't recall a time where he'd felt this sick to his stomach. Eventually, Colby tried to straighten up and take a breath. _

"_He was __**burned**__ to death?" His voice was raspier than usual, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, utterly disbelieving. _

"_Oh my dear boy…I wish I could say I hadn't seen worse." _

_And as Colby looked around at the bodies, and back down again at his vomit-covered uniform, he wondered what the hell the world had come to. _

* * *

The car was stifling. He could barely breathe. He could no longer hear the screams of his team and the fire-fighters. The roar of the fire was too loud to distinguish anything but it and the loud moans coming from the back of the car. He vaguely wondered if Dwayne could see him now. Whether he'd care or not. 

Colby reached for the victim's arm, and recoiled as his hand came in contact with a burning piece of metal. He shook his head slightly, trying to find a way around the metal, but it was impossible. Shaking, he reached for the arm again, and even though his own arm was burning through, Colby grabbed the victim's shoulder.

He could feel the pain searing up his arm, a strange sense of déjà vu implanting itself in his mind. He refocused and reminded himself that he'd been here before, although somehow, it hadn't been quite as painful on the other side. Grabbing hold of the victim, Colby began to pull. Judging by the weight and build of the arm, it was a male. Colby wanted to say something, but the smoke and heat made it impossible. If he even thought of opening his mouth, his airways would be burned through.

Eventually, his arm was free of the burning metal that it had endured for however long it was there. From experience, Colby knew it hurt more for the burns to be out in the air, but the pain still hit him like a speeding train. Yet, he kept pulling the man, and eventually, he could feel air at his back.

It went much the same as Afghanistan. They ran and once they were far enough, they fell onto the concrete of the bridge. Looking at the face of the person he saved, Colby knew he couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. He made out the boy's lips mouthing the word 'thankyou' before they both blacked out to the sounds of Don yelling Colby's name.

* * *

The second Colby woke up; he knew he was in a hospital bed. The place was too familiar for him not to recognise. His arm was burning, but so far the bandages weren't sticking to it yet. Beside the bed, he could see a bunch of flowers on the table, three cards and a note, but he really wasn't in any condition to try and reach for it. Nevertheless, it didn't stop him trying and what felt like seconds later, a nurse was by his side, rolling him onto his back. 

"Agent Granger! You've barely woken up, you have third degree burns up your entire left arm, as well as numerous other burn injuries and you're pumped with all kinds of drugs. I wouldn't suggest moving." Colby tried to respond, but his mouth was too dry to make anything but a faint choking sound.

"I'll go and get you some water." The nurse walked briskly out of the room and Colby found the envelope even further away than it was before.

* * *

_Fifteen year old Colby Granger had been half sleeping when he'd heard the doorbell. Looking over at his clock, he saw that it was only just past seven in the morning. No-one had ever called before nine. He vaguely considered going back to sleep, after all, it was a Saturday…but he'd always been a curious kid, and this time was no different._

_Creeping as quietly as he could down the creaking stairs, he came to a rest halfway up where he could see his mother at the door, speaking in hushed tones with another person he couldn't see. After a couple of minutes of trying to eavesdrop, but failing to pick up anything, Colby was considering going back to his room and back to sleep. _

_Then all of a sudden, as if the people below had heard his silent plea for information, his mother broke down in tears and a man in a sharp military uniform appeared, wrapping his arms around her. The second he'd seen the stripes, Colby smiled and ran down the stairs in an eager attempt to get to the door._

"_Dad?"_

_He hadn't seen his father in six months. The day after Colby's fifteenth birthday, his dad had been deployed, and even though they'd received weekly letters wishing them well, nothing had quite replaced the void his father had left in the house. Fishing wasn't quite the same when you were doing it alone, and hearing other kids at school talk about what they got their dads for Father's Day had been painful._

_However, the second the word 'Dad' was out of his mouth, Colby knew he shouldn't have said it. His mother let out another heart-wrenching sob and the man in uniform turned around to reveal the face of his Dad's best friend, James. He looked at Colby, a solemn expression on his face and a white envelope bearing the US army crest in his hand. _

"_I'm so sorry Colby. Your dad…he…" But Colby knew. He'd heard the stories about death over there. Now, his dad was no longer going to be around to avoid telling him those stories. Ironically, he'd lived one. _

_The envelope sat on the table for weeks, and although Colby had always wondered what was in it, he didn't want his curiosity to get the best of him this time. His mother had opened it and cried for days on end every time she saw it lying next to the flowers and her husband's picture. _

_It wasn't until ten years later that Colby found out his dad had died in a car bomb. Death by asphyxiation and burns._

* * *

"Are you crazy?" He registered the distinct New York accent immediately, and almost groaned in anticipation of a massive lecture. 

"Megan…" The fact that he didn't have the energy to croak out a snide remark disappointed him more than anything.

"Jumping into a burning car when the fire brigade was standing right _there_? Are you completely _insane_?" She walked up to the bed and grabbed one of the rails. "You nearly died Colby."

"I know." God, he needed water.

"And that doesn't concern you at all? The fact that you were willing to die in an effort to save someone you never even knew?" He shook his head and looked at her, considering the hypocrisy of what she was saying. Being the person she was, he knew she'd do exactly the same thing.

"They were burning to death Megan. You know me better than to think I'd leave them there." His tone was final, and after he turned his head away, he could hear her sigh in defeat and walk out.

* * *

The one thing Colby hated about FBI headquarters was that there was no place to think. The most common place was the walkway that he was standing on now, but that was the problem. There were so many people passing by, talking about kidnapping, torture, murder, interrogation…how was anyone supposed to think when every thirty seconds someone would come by and say the word 'autopsy'? 

It was his first day back after being in hospital for a week. There was still a bandage on his arm, and both Don and the Director had strongly urged him to take some time off, but from recent experience, Colby found himself far more dangerous when left alone with only his own thoughts as company than he was out in the field. Still, he was constantly beginning to question why he came back to work, particularly now. He'd just opened his drawer and found his vaccination letter.

The weather was far colder now, the complete opposite to the heat a week ago, when he was stuck in a burning car. Regardless, the thought of being warm again wasn't a pleasant one, so he opened his jacket slightly to let the cold air in. Leaning against the railing, he tried to convince himself that his upcoming vaccination was not going to cause horrible hallucinations or flashbacks. However, the buzzing noise of the city around him, the snippets of conversations and clacking of shoes on concrete weren't helping him to concentrate on his thoughts.

"Colby?" He turned his head to face the person leaned over next to him.

"Hey Megan."

"Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine. Just needed to get away from the desk for a while."

"I figured. You practically bolted out of the office." Forgetting for a second why he was there in the first place, he turned to her, an amused smile on his face.

"Bolted?" He smirked. "Have you ever seen me bolt? It's a lot more dramatic than that."

"I was using a figure of speech Granger." She rolled her eyes and although her tone was sarcastic, it wasn't harsh.

After a few minutes of silence and trying to block out the noise around them, Megan turned around, so she was leaning her back against the wall and facing her co-worker.

"Why on Earth would you want to come out here anyway? It's freezing."

"Maybe, but it beats being stuck inside doing reports." Colby looked at Megan, giving her a half smile to try and convince her that nothing was wrong. He tried desperately not to think of the letter inside his desk drawer bearing the date of his appointment with a new syringe.

"Come on Colby. You hate LA in winter." He raised an eyebrow, wondering how she knew. She gave him a look and ignored him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing's go-"

"You know…I really hate pointing this out to people, but in my file, it does say the word 'profiler', so you should probably know that I'm very hard to lie to." He sighed, dropping his head back onto his shoulders.

"Do you have any fears?" She considered him for a moment before answering.

"Spiders, clowns…" She took a breath as if wondering to tell him the next one. "Heights." He couldn't help but be slightly disappointed that she'd held back.

"Heights, huh?" She sensed the defeat in his voice.

"You know the rest." He nodded, not wanting to push her, but felt a sense of relief that she didn't feel she had to hide anything from him.

"How about you?" She asked. "You scared of anything?"

"I don't think there's anybody in the world that isn't, Megan." She smiled. "But if you really wanted to know…needles. Needles and fire. I don't really like envelopes either."

"Envelopes?" He nodded, taking a breath.

"Yeah, I mean, it's not a phobia or anything, it's just…well, for me, nothing good has ever come in an envelope."

Colby half expected her to make some sort of sarcastic joke, or look at him strangely, but instead she just smiled – almost secretly – and touched him on the shoulder, getting ready to walk away.

"Needles and burning cars might take a while, but envelopes…_that_ I can fix." Giving him another smile, she walked away.

* * *

The office was busy, but filled with the feeling of utter boredom. There were people walking around carrying mountains of files, people at their desks filling out piles of paperwork, and about ten people in the break room looking as if they'd drop dead if they didn't get their coffee. Immediately Colby knew that it was going to be a very slow day. 

When he finally reached his desk after fighting through crowds of agents, he saw David and Megan both staring into their coffee cups. Megan raised her head and gave him a tired smile, while David flopped his hand in what Colby assumed was meant to be a wave.

The day was the least productive any of them had ever had. Colby had gone to the break room four times in an hour, and despite the ridiculous amount of caffeine, every ten minutes he felt more and more as if he was going to fall into a coma and sleep for the rest of his life. At the moment, he'd quite happily welcome a crazed gunman shooting up the office.

After his lunch break, Colby came back to find the customary white envelope on his desk. For two weeks, he'd found them either every morning, or every break during a case if there wasn't time in the morning. He knew Megan had sent them. It wasn't as if he'd compared handwriting, but the thought could only be one of hers. Some days the envelope held a card with a small quote, other days it was as simple as a 'have a good day' message on a ripped piece of paper. Today the envelope felt particularly heavy.

_I __know it's not your thing to make a public display, so I've just put the present and card in an envelope._

_Happy birthday Colby._

_Megan _

Inside, the envelope contained not only a note, but a thin gold chain with a small gold eye pendant hanging from the end of it. He smiled and carefully placed it back in the envelope before anyone had the chance to question him, and instead of locking it in the drawer with his other envelopes she'd given him, he placed this one in his bag.

"Did you like it?" Her voice came from the other side of the glass barrier, and although she was smiling, there was a nervous excitement in her voice.

"It's amazing Megan. Thankyou."

"I didn't really _want_ to play on the whole spy thing, but I saw it and…well, I thought you might like it."

"I do. Really, it's the best gift I've gotten in years." She smiled again, sighing a little in relief.

"Look, Colby…" She paused, thinking of the right words. "I know Don's got Alan and Charlie, and Charlie's got Don and Amita, and I don't know who David has, but I've seen him take Claudia out a couple of times, looking a bit upset." He looked at her quizzically.

"What's going on Megan?"

"Just know that if you ever needed anyone to talk to…my desk is only a few feet away."

And without giving it a second thought, Colby walked around his desk and into the corridor, immediately wrapping Megan into a very strong hug.

"Colby…"

"Hm?"

"I can't breathe." He stepped back very quickly and apologised. Megan smiled. "It's okay. Really." They both looked down at the carpet, avoiding the curious eyes of Don and the rest of the FBI office, who were also apparently incredibly bored. Once everyone had returned to normal a minute later, Megan spoke.

"My offer still stands. Any time you need to vent or talk or…whatever…just-"

"Same to you." She smiled yet again, touched his arm and leaned in slightly closer. In a matter of seconds her arms had enveloped him in a light hug and released him again

"Happy birthday Colby."

And although his day had been more boring than staring at a blank wall all day, he felt a sense of exhilaration rise in him.

Happy birthday indeed.

* * *

A/N: Let me know what you think by pressing the little "go" button down there...) 


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